


The Valet and The Prince

by victorine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Also I have no idea what country Hannibal's prince of, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Hannibal is a Prince, In a forbidden kinda way, M/M, Probably a huge amount of historical inaccuracy, Really this is just more emotional idiocy on their parts, So you know the usual, Will Loves Hannibal, Will is his valet, just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine
Summary: Will has been in love with his childhood friend Hannibal for years. But he knows it can never be, since he is the son of a cook, and Hannibal is the son of the king. However, when Will is employed as valet to the prince, it becomes increasingly difficult to hide his feelings, and soon he begins to wonder if perhaps Hannibal feels something for him too.





	The Valet and The Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slashyrogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashyrogue/gifts).



> A birthday present for the amazing and talented nightliferogue, based on this prompt from their [@hannigramprompts](http://hannigramprompts.tumblr.com) tumblr:
> 
> Hannigram Regency AU where Hannibal is the King’s son and Will the cook’s. They were the best of friends until time and duty made them mere acquaintances.  
> Will is asked to be Hannibal’s valet. He wants to refuse but he’s been in love with the prince for so very long. He says yes and they start to love each other again, the closeness still there and near half a dozen times Will is so certain it’s not his own foolishness till there’s a ball and they lock eyes from across the room just before some random girl throws herself into Hannibal’s arms.  
> Will is crushed, he’s an idiot and he knows better. They might be friends again but that’s all they’ll ever be. He goes to the royal stables and takes a horse, riding off.  
> He’s far across the grounds when he hears the sound of horse hooves and turns to see Hannibal heading for him.  
> Will doesn’t move, mesmerized and when Hannibal stops he asks, “What are you doing here?”  
> Hannibal is breathless when he answers, “I’m following my heart.”

_“Hannibal, you can’t!”_

_“I am the prince, am I not? I can do exactly as I please.”_

_“That’s why you can’t, princes don’t kneel before their subjects. And they definitely don’t clean their boots for them!”_

_“You’re not my subject, Will, you’re my friend. I don’t care about what the rules say, I care about you.”_

_“I… alright, fine then, have it your way. Should be me down there cleaning your shoes, though. Good practice for when I’m somebody’s servant.”_

_“You could be so much more than that, Will. I could help you.”_

_“Nothing wrong with being a servant, your highness. We can’t all be the future king.”_

_“Perhaps I long for something different as well.”_

_“We all long for things we can’t have, Hannibal, that’s life.”_

_“Then life is unfair.”_

_“Yes. Hadn’t you figured that out yet?”_

Will couldn’t help but remember that conversation, years past now, on the morning he was to begin his new employment. It wasn’t the first, or the last time the prince had offered to help him rise beyond his station but, looking back now, Will could see it was the beginning of the end for their friendship. He had known, by that point, that he wouldn’t be able to keep Hannibal, that his life would soon diverge from the prince’s in ways that would deny them the closeness they had enjoyed throughout their childhood. The child of the king, the future ruler, could not remain best friends with the child of a mere cook, and much as Will might have wanted to hold Hannibal close – closer even than friends, in his secret heart – he had done his best to accept this inevitability. Hannibal though, it seemed, had not realised, or at least not believed it, until that day and that conversation. After, he seemed to withdraw somewhat, as if he too had begun to build a wall around his heart against their upcoming separation, and gradually the two drifted apart, consumed by the quickly accruing duties of their different destinies. Hannibal learned how to govern, how to lead, how to rule. Will, how to serve, how to bow and scrape and obey.

Now they were both men grown, and it had been at least a year since they had been in each other’s company; longer still since they had exchanged a friendly word. So it had been a shock indeed for Will to receive news of his advancement to this new position, ahead of many other valets who were better qualified for the role. And it was downright unsettling to stand in this room, watching his new master survey him from top to toe.

“Hello, Will.”

“Good morning, your highness.” Will kept his eyes trained on the fireplace, as Hannibal prowled round him in a slow circle, clearly having no wish to put him at his ease. He felt stiff and awkward in his new uniform, provided for him by the prince’s household, and Hannibal’s scrutiny was not helping. It was all Will could do not to squirm under his gaze, only the distinct desire not to give Hannibal such satisfaction holding him in place.

Finally, the prince had apparently looked his fill and came to stand before Will, smiling affably. “You have grown up well, Will, as I always imagined you would.”

Will did his best not to roll his eyes at this. Hannibal was barely two years older than him, yet he spoke as though Will was a child in comparison. He always had been given to patronising everybody around him; when they were younger, Will would simply have smacked him and told him to stop being so annoying. Now though…

“Thank you, your highness, you are very kind. Would you like me to begin my duties?”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at this, and sought out Will’s eyes, forcing eye contact that he had no choice but to return. “So eager to begin you have no time to catch up, Will?” Hannibal asked, and Will could swear there was something like disappointment in the prince’s eyes. It was gone again a second later though, and while Will usually trusted himself to read people accurately, with Hannibal he’d never found it quite so easy, and so told himself he’d imagined it. “Very well, Mr Graham, you may proceed.”

The title caught Will by surprise. It was, really, exactly as any valet should be addressed by his master, but from Hannibal… Still, Will did not let it faze him, and he moved calmly towards the shaving set to take up his position. The head of the prince’s household had informed him that Hannibal preferred to shave himself, as well as to pick out his own clothing (a fact which Will was greatly relieved by, having little sartorial sense of his own), and so he stood by as Hannibal approached the washstand, ready to hand him the implements as required. He was therefore in the perfect spot to observe as Hannibal dropped his fine, flowing gown to the floor, and could barely contain his gasp.

The prince was utterly, unashamedly naked.

Both men stood for a moment, as if rooted to the spot, Will unable to keep his gaze from tracking the length of his old friend’s body. He was not the only one to have grown up well, it seemed; Hannibal cut an extremely fine figure, all tanned, glowing skin and long, muscular limbs. There was a dense scattering of hair on his chest, trailing down to… Will dragged his eyes away before he could look any further, pretending to check a razor for a sharp edge (and wondering for a split second if he could slit his own throat so as to avoid further humiliation).

Hannibal sauntered up to the shaving table, and if Will didn’t know any better he would swear the prince was posing, puffing out his not inconsiderable chest. Will had no idea what to make of the display – Hannibal had always been vain, and given to outrageous displays, but he had no idea what the prince could possibly get out of this except to make Will uncomfortable. And surely he hadn’t employed him in order to do that? Will risked a glance at Hannibal and considered. As a boy he had always been given to holding grudges and punishing those he felt had wronged him. Had Will inadvertently offended the prince in some way he was unaware of?

“Are you quite well, Will?” Hannibal’s voice interrupted his worried reverie.

Will looked up to find the prince observing him, nothing but genuine concern in his face, not a hint of malice to be found. Whatever Hannibal’s reasons for having him here, Will decided, they were not born of anger or spite. “Yes, quite well, your highness, merely thinking to the day ahead.”

“Ah, I am glad, Mr Graham. I feared for a moment I might have offended you with my state of undress.” There was a mischievous note to Hannibal’s voice, and for a moment Will was transported once again to their childhood, when Hannibal would tease him relentlessly for his occasional bursts of serious-mindedness. He smiled at the memory.

“Not in the least, your highness.”

“Not in the least,” Hannibal repeated. “I am almost offended, Will, to hear I have so little effect on you.”

Will knew he was blushing. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Was Hannibal… flirting with him? No, quite impossible. An absurd thought, Will admonished himself, likely born of a longing he had thought well-buried and brought back to the surface by the prince’s presence in his life again. He would set about bringing it back under control at once, he thought determinedly, and began by firmly turning his attention back to his duties.

The rest of Will’s first day passed off without incident, and so his first week, and his first month. Before long, Will had settled in well, finding that the prince’s household was amiable and efficient, and largely happy to leave him to his own devices, which was all Will desired in his colleagues. He found himself quite able to fulfil his duties, despite the added responsibility associated with being valet to a prince, and to his great joy was also allowed to spend some of his small spare time tending to the prince’s pack of hunting dogs, after the master of the hounds took a liking to him.

And yet for all this, there was deep unhappiness in Will’s life too, in every moment that he was in the prince’s presence. It was torture, no other word for it, to touch Hannibal every day, to feel the warmth of his skin, breathe in the rich, heady scent of him and never have it for himself. Worse, though, than the base lust he felt flood through him whenever Hannibal drew near, was the resurrection of their old friendship, or at least a new incarnation of it, restricted by rank and formality, but as lively and consuming as ever. Hannibal was easy and open with Will, bringing tales of his days at court, making Will laugh with accounts of ridiculous sycophants and eccentric aristocrats. He would even occasionally ask Will for his opinion on some matter of state, and while Will was initially uncomfortable giving his thoughts on such lofty concerns, he soon saw that Hannibal found him useful as a sounding board, and so grew more confident in their exchanges. Sometimes he could even forget that they were master and servant, king and subject, and believe them simply two men who enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company.

And so Will found it strange that Hannibal had not ceased to tease him, continuing to parade around naked and seemingly doing his best to shock Will with his behaviour – one memorable night had involved a highly-inebriated prince summoning Will in the wee hours of the morning to remove his boots, for he had clean forgotten how to, or so he said. It seemed out of place in their otherwise cordial relationship. As Will relaxed into his new role, though, he began to see that these antics were not truly for his benefit, but the result of Hannibal’s own dissatisfaction with life. The prince was miserable, and acting out because of it. He rankled at the rules and regulations he was expected to abide by, bored by the vacuous social engagements that filled his day and angered by his lack of control over his own life.

Will began to wonder if Hannibal had employed him simply to have someone to talk to, who belonged to him and not to his title. He wondered if Hannibal had been lonely these past years, as Will had been without their friendship. In his weakest moments, he even entertained the silly fantasy of persuading Hannibal to leave with him, to abandon his duty and choose a life with Will instead. No matter that two men could hardly live as a couple, no matter that he was sure Hannibal would never abandon his kingdom, Will couldn’t quite rid himself of some small thread of hope. Hannibal hardly helped in this regard – he took every opportunity he could to flirt with Will, constantly leaning in too close, placing his hand on Will’s shoulder or back, making remarks which while appearing innocent to anyone else were clearly scandalous to Will’s ears.

_“What is that, Mr Graham?”_

_“I beg your pardon, your highness?”_

_“That terrible odour.”_

_“I… I am sorry but, did your highness just smell me?”_

_“Difficult to avoid, Mr Graham. If we are to continue in such intimate contact, I shall have to introduce you to a finer scent.”_

Will could bear it, though, would gladly walk onto the blade of Hannibal’s presence every day, for it was all he would ever have and more than he had dared to hope for. And so they might have continued for the rest of their lives, Hannibal unconsciously toying with Will’s affections, and Will ignoring the pain of it to continue enjoying the pleasure instead. But then there came word of a great ball to be held in Hannibal’s honour, and with it a black mood descended upon the prince.

“I cannot stand for this nonsense, Will. It is unacceptable and I will not allow it.”

In truth, Will did not know why the prince was quite so vexed by the prospect of a ball. Such events were part and parcel of a royal life, and Hannibal had always been at ease with social engagements, effortlessly able to charm and entertain anyone he met. To be making such a fuss was quite unprecedented.

Some of Will’s cynicism must have shown on his face, because Hannibal pouted at him and said, “You think me spoiled and petty, is that it, Will?”

“Certainly not, your highness,” Will protested, though he did not in truth disagree. Attending what amounted to an elaborate party was certainly not a hardship, not for the prince in any case.

“You fail to understand the meaning of this, Mr Graham.” Hannibal huffed a laugh, though it was entirely without humour. “My father means to marry me off, that is the point of this entire endeavour. After this ball will be another, and another, until a suitable match can be found.”

Will felt the news hit him with full force as Hannibal sneered in contempt.

“They mean to take my life. No, worse than that, my freedom. Marry me off to the most fertile candidate – political expediency provided, of course – no matter that I could not love such a creature.” He spun and fixed Will with such a fierce look, it was all he could do not to cringe from it. “Do I make myself plain, Will? I could not, under any circumstances, love any woman they choose for me. There is no room in my heart for it.”

_You could disappear with me. Now. Take a horse, leave a note for your father and never see him or this palace again._

Will almost said it, so close he could feel the shape of the words on his tongue. And yet… What proof did he have that Hannibal returned his affections? Flirtation was easy, especially to a man raised to charm and enchant everyone around him, and Hannibal was generous with his attention. Perhaps there was something in the fact that Will was the only servant to warrant such treatment, but then again perhaps it was simply a remnant of their old friendship and Hannibal’s comfort with Will. Not enough to base such a risk on, for either of them.

So instead, he schooled his feelings and said, “I am certain that your father will take your preferences under consideration.”

Had Will’s heart not already been broken, it surely would have shattered with the wounded look Hannibal gave him at this remark. The prince took a deep breath, and a step towards his valet, and then stopped himself, looking as if it took physical effort to do so. “You think so, Mr Graham? I wish I had your optimism. I am certain my father cares little for my preferences, and more certain he would be appalled by them should he ever care to enquire.” He turned sharply on his heel and strode away from Will, saying, “That will be all for tonight, Mr Graham, you are dismissed.”

Never had those words stung Will so greatly before.

There followed several days of near-unbearable silence, Hannibal ignoring Will and refusing to speak to him, save to issue some order in so dismissive a tone Will’s heart ached for it. In addition, the prince’s late-night misdemeanours grew more frequent and more disturbing, with stories of drunken brawls reaching the valet’s ears to his great concern. Then finally, one night Will was summoned to his chambers to find Hannibal in disarray, his hair loose and his clothes torn and, most troubling of all, his hands covered in bruises and blood. He stared at Will in defiance, and Will watched him for a moment, quietly thinking, then stepped up and took Hannibal’s hands in his own.

“We must get these cleaned, and then I think you would be wise to take some rest, your highness,” he said, softly and without judgement.

Hannibal’s entire face softened at this, and Will felt relief wash over him, his own and the prince’s, as he nodded his acquiescence. He led Hannibal gently to his washstand and carefully cleaned the wounds before wrapping them and then helping the prince to change into his nightclothes.

“Thank you, Will,” the prince whispered, as the valet took his leave, and Will nodded at him in return, smiling and hoping that Hannibal understood. Will would not ask, indeed did not care, what happened that night, or whom had been the target of the prince’s anger. Instead, he felt only relief that the prince was safe and that the incident seemed to bring an end both to their disagreement and the worst of Hannibal’s rebellion.

Of course, had he known that the victim was a young nobleman named Dimmond, who bore a striking resemblance to Will himself, he might have been given pause. Or then again, perhaps not.

After that, something like resignation seemed to settle upon the prince as the ball finally drew close. Both he and Will spent their time in quiet contemplation, one man nursing his resentment, the other his heartache. Neither was happy, and neither could see any way to improve their lot, and so the days passed around them with cruel inevitability, until the evening of the ball itself finally arrived.

Hannibal was in sombre mood, as he watched Will bustle around his room, readying his toilette and laying out his clothes.

“It will be intolerable, I have no doubt. I should much prefer to pass the night in my quarters, or perhaps in conversation with you, Will.”

Will attempted to ignore his own desire for such a scenario and finished readying the prince’s shaving equipment, standing to the side to indicate it was ready for Hannibal to use. “I cannot imagine why you would prefer my company to that of such fine lords and ladies,” he remarked, managing to keep most of the cynical edge from his voice. He could well imagine the sycophants and bores than Hannibal would be spending his evening with, and was only too glad that there was no such requirement for _him_ to be sociable.

“Can’t you?” Hannibal was looking at Will from beneath his lashes, a smirk spread wide across his face. He rose, and prowled towards Will, and Will knew he was blushing yet again. Hannibal would have to be blind not to have realised by now the effect he had on Will with such remarks, and Will both wished he would stop and hoped desperately that he wouldn’t. He scowled at the thought, and then quickly tempered it, glad that Hannibal’s attention was on the spread of implements before him.

“I think perhaps you should shave me tonight, Will.”

Will’s head snapped up and he swallowed in sudden trepidation. “You have never wished for me to do so before, your highness.”

“I have never _asked_ before, certainly,” the prince allowed. “Tonight I do not trust my own hands, therefore I shall trust in yours. Would you be so kind, Will?”

“Of course, your highness.”

Will stepped back to the stand and began preparing the lather, grateful for something to occupy his attention. He did not react outwardly at all when Hannibal dropped his robe, accustomed by now to the prince’s nudity, though his stomach flipped at the sight as it had not done for some weeks now. He methodically moved through his preparations and then approached the waiting prince, the picture of servile propriety, and began his task.

Will worked slowly and carefully, out of practice at shaving another man after his time with Hannibal. With one hand he eased the razor across the sharp planes of the prince’s face, while the other rested against the back of his skull, holding him in place. They drew closer and closer as he worked, until Will could feel the heat of Hannibal’s body and their breaths mingled together. It was unbearable how much Will wanted to drop the blade and press his lips to Hannibal’s, how little it would take for him to close the gap between them. Perhaps that was why, just as he was finishing the job, his hand slipped and the razor made a tiny cut along Hannibal’s jaw.

The prince hissed, and Will cringed, watching blood well in a fine line on his skin. He watched helplessly, one hand still cradling Hannibal’s head, as the prince brought his hand up and felt for the wound, his thumb coming back bloody. He looked down at it, and then up at Will, and then he moved his hand to caress Will’s cheek, his red-stained thumb resting against the valet’s lips.

“Clean it,” he commanded, and Will could not help but open his lips and take Hannibal inside, laving his tongue against the taste of Hannibal’s blood. The prince’s pupils blew wide and he watched, seemingly in awe, only withdrawing once Will had thoroughly cleaned the blood from his flesh.

“Would you stay with me tonight, Will?”

Will froze, his lips parting in surprise, unable to parse what Hannibal meant, terrified he had somehow plucked the thought from inside Will’s own mind.

Hannibal seemed to hesitate for a moment, then added, “At the ball, I mean. I think if I could only see your face, I might be able to stomach the rest.” He caught Will’s gaze and held it, his eyes seeming to hold some deeper meaning when he asked, “Would you stay with me, Will?”

“Yes.” The word seemed to fall from Will’s lips without thought or intention. He could not have refused the prince anything in that moment.

“Yes?” Hannibal repeated, a pleased smile playing around his mouth.

Will nodded, unable to look away from that flicker of pleasure. “Hannibal,” he breathed, bringing his hand at last from the back of his head and letting his own thumb brush the very edge of the prince’s lips.

Hannibal truly smiled then and gazed at Will, saying, “You used my name.”

Will realised his mistake and withdrew his hand, stammering, “I… I apologise, your highness, I meant no disrespect.”

Hannibal gave him the strangest look, one Will could not decipher in the least and shook his head. “It does not matter, Will. It would not be the first time, would it?”

“No, your highness, but our positions were not then as they are now.”

Another inscrutable look, and then, “Indeed, they were not,” with such a note of sadness that Will almost lost his head and took the prince into his arms. He had no idea what to make of this, no idea how to act when it seemed that, perhaps…

“I fear I must dress now, Mr Graham, if you would assist me.” Hannibal was still watching Will, and though his words were cold, there was still such a heat in his eyes that Will felt certain he had not imagined what had just passed between them. And then Hannibal spoke again. “But perhaps, once this wretched ball is behind us, there are things we might speak of, when we are once more alone together.”

Will resisted the urge to pinch himself, unwilling to believe this only a fever dream of his fervent imagination. Instead he shot the prince a smile, small but wholly sincere, and answered, “Perhaps there are, Hannibal,” and felt his heart soar as his smile was returned tenfold.

The two of them finished dressing Hannibal in giddy silence, stealing furtive glances and hiding smiles whenever they caught each other’s eyes. Will could hardly finish his duties, fingers fumbling at buttons and catching on ties. Finally, though, the prince was properly attired, looking as fine as Will could ever remember seeing him and causing a flush to rise to Will’s face as he thought of removing that clothing later that night.

Hannibal inevitably noticed Will’s blush, and smiled at him for it, impossibly fond. Then he crooked his elbow and offered it to Will.

“Hannibal, you can’t!”

“I am the prince, am I not?” Hannibal winked at him, clearly remembering that long-distant day with the same clarity as Will. “And while I may not, in fact, be able to do _exactly_ as I please, this I think I will take a chance on.”

To which Will could only roll his eyes in amusement, and smile, and fit his arm in the crook of Hannibal’s with a feeling dangerously close to utter contentment. And so they walked through the mercilessly empty halls of Hannibal’s residence, heading towards the ballroom and the sounds of music and frivolity already taking place. Will felt lighter than he had done for weeks, perhaps longer, perhaps since his friendship with Hannibal had fallen away all those years ago. He felt like a man who had been broken, suddenly made whole again, and though he had no idea how they would manage it, with so many obstacles in their way, for the first time Will felt he had a future worth looking forward to.

And he felt that way right up until the moment Hannibal unceremoniously dropped his arm upon spotting some servants heading in their direction. He had known it was coming, certainly Will was not so stupid as to think the prince would continue arm-in-arm with him all the way into the ballroom. Still, something in the dismissive body language Hannibal assumed stung him; he had not expected he could be so easily abandoned. After what they had just shared, he had thought Hannibal would find it more difficult to part from him as well.

What he _thought_ they had shared.

Will had no time to pursue the flash of doubt that sparked through his mind, as the servants hurried towards them and bowed deeply before addressing Hannibal. “Your highness, the king sent us to fetch you.”

“To fetch me? As though I were a stick thrown for one of his dogs?” Hannibal hid it well, but Will detected the note of offence and anger in his tone, and worried for the consequences. Subtly, barely moving at all, he insinuated himself a little closer to the prince, wanting to soothe him with his presence. Instead, Hannibal flinched and then sneered at the servants, taking a step towards them and, clearly intentionally, away from Will.

“My… my apologies, your highness,” the servant stuttered, utterly terrified and trying to maintain his decorum. “No disrespect was meant, I merely repeated your father’s words to me.”

“Then it is likely offence was meant indeed,” Hannibal growled, looming over the poor man. Will wondered if he was contemplating beating him and sending the results back to his father. Not a wise move, given the commotion it would likely provoke, not to mention that cleaning up the mess would likely be beyond Will’s skills. Fortunately, after a moment Hannibal relented, drawing back and appraising the cowering servants. “Very well, lead me to the ballroom so that my father may throw me to the wolves.”

The servants sprang to attention and began marching at once in the direction of the music. As Hannibal followed, and Will followed him in turn, one of them glanced back and asked, “What of your man, your highness?”

Hannibal spared the briefest of looks over his shoulder at Will, and said airily, “I had an attack of light-headedness earlier this evening. Mr Graham is here in order to provide aid should it reoccur. Please see that he is installed in some out-of-the-way corner of the ballroom in as inconspicuous a fashion as possible.”

Again Will was wounded by Hannibal’s dismissive attitude. Why had he requested Will come with him at all if he was to be hidden out of sight? A knot began to form in Will’s stomach. He had been so sure, so certain that he had read Hannibal correctly. Now, as one servant peeled off to lead Will to a servant’s entrance to the ballroom, while the other continued with Hannibal to the upper entrance, Will began to question himself in earnest.

_…there are things we might speak of, when we are once more alone together._

Will had thought that meant… and yet now he could see it was far from a romantic declaration. Perhaps Hannibal had merely wished to celebrate their renewed friendship, or perhaps he meant to thank Will for his silence over that terrible night from weeks ago. And yet…

Yet he could see that look in Hannibal’s eye as clearly in his mind as when they had stood together. He was not wrong, he could not be. Hannibal had looked at him with adoration, had shared those joyous smiles with him, had offered his arm as though they were lovers. That he had acted coldly to Will in front of those servants meant nothing, save that he was not so stupid as to risk them being caught when they had not yet even done anything to be caught for. Will felt a thrill up his spine as he thought of how that might change as soon as they returned to Hannibal’s chambers that night. He hid his smile at the thought and held his head high as he was directed to a shadowy corner of the ballroom, where he could remain undetected by all save the one likely to seek him out.

It took several minutes longer for Hannibal to make his entrance, announced with his title and received with rapturous applause. He smiled at the gathered nobles and Will thought he had never seen a more beautiful man in his life. He let himself think for an instant that perhaps the brightness of that smile was down to him, anticipating the moment when it would be for him alone.

As the minutes dragged on, though, Will found himself growing anxious once more. Hannibal had given the impression that he would be miserable throughout the event, barely able to converse with any of the guests, or make it through a single dance. Yet Will could see none of this in the suave, relaxed, effortlessly captivating man who laughed and smiled, and flirted shamelessly with every women he spoke to. The man who ignored Will completely, despite having requested his presence, never once looking his way, never seeming to check that Will was even still there.

And so Will sat in his corner, growing more furious and heartbroken by the minute. Over and over he got up the courage to leave, only to find that he could not drag himself away, some masochistic tendency within him forcing him to remain and watch his stupid, pathetic little dream dissolve in front of his eyes. Hannibal would never leave this behind, Will realised, with sudden clarity. He was born to it, made for it. He would marry one of these beautiful, well-bred women and take his throne in due course, and Will would be alone again, nothing but cruel memories and a cold bed left for him.

As these thoughts passed painfully through Will’s mind, his eyes found Hannibal once more amongst the crowd and saw him laughing merrily with a pretty young woman, her bright red ringlets dancing brightly in the glow of the lights. With a horrible, sick feeling, Will watched as Hannibal raised a hand to the young woman’s cheek, just as he had caressed Will’s cheek earlier, a cruel parody of the tenderness they had shared.

Helpless to stop himself, Will shot to his feet, needing to leave, needing to get out. The movement seemed to draw Hannibal’s attention though, and he finally, _finally_ looked over in Will’s direction. A look of horror dawned on the prince’s face as he locked eyes with Will, and Will wondered if Hannibal had even remembered he was there at all. He saw the prince take a step towards him, only to be blocked by the redheaded woman flinging her arms around Hannibal as if to entice him into a dance. Will wasted no time in waiting to see his reaction. He fled across the ballroom and back out the servant’s entrance, uncaring if he caused offence to the gathered crowd. He had no intention of seeing anyone in that room ever again, least of all Hannibal.

He ran, no plan in mind, no direction chosen, simply moving in order to put distance between himself and the prince. Will had no idea if Hannibal had followed him and only hoped that he had not, that he would simply allow Will to go now he had humiliated himself. It was not until he reached the stables that Will knew his own mind and what he meant to do. He had nothing, only the clothes on his back, but he could not return to his quarters for his possessions, lest he be discovered there by Hannibal, or worse, some servant dispatched to rein in his wayward valet. Only one option was open to him: saddle a horse and leave, get as far from the palace and his stupid, stupid fantasies as he could.

Will let his tears fall as he readied the horse, gathering any provisions he could find stashed in the stables – they would hardly be missed, and surely Will was owed _something_ for all he had done. Something for covering up whatever dreadful deed Hannibal had committed to return home with blood caked beneath his nails and a wild look in his eyes. He would have done it a thousand times over, Will knew, would never have told a soul of the violence and anger that simmered inside Hannibal at all times, that needed to find expression in some cruel burst of rage. Selfish perhaps, and certainly immoral, but it was hardly a servant’s lot to care for such things and so Will had never bothered to.

Though it was hardly a servant’s lot to fall in love with a prince either and Will had done so anyway. He shook himself roughly at the thought, and forced back his tears. If this was his punishment for loving above his station, so be it. He would leave Hannibal to his balls and pretty princesses where he belonged and find some other existence far away from him.

And so Will flew from the stables without a backward glance at the place that had been his home since he was a boy. There was only one thing left in it he would miss anyway.

Will was not the most skilled horseman – there was little demand for valets to take riding lessons – and so he did not risk urging the horse into a full gallop. It took all his focus to stay seated, the dark night blinding him to potential obstacles, so that he had no room in his mind for anything else, no thoughts of anything but escape.

Until he heard the hoofbeats behind him.

It did not cross Will’s mind that it might be a servant, or a guard sent to stop him. It was Hannibal, he knew it was, and he knew he had no hope of outriding him. Instead, Will slowed his horse, and guided it round to face whatever fate had in store. He watched, mesmerised, unable to move, as Hannibal closed the distance between them, barely allowing his horse to stop before he slid from it and ran to Will’s, catching his reins as if he thought he might bolt again.

“What are you doing here?” Will asked, staring helplessly at the man below him.

Hannibal was breathless from his ride, but he gathered himself and looked deep into Will’s eyes. “I am following my heart. Please don’t take it from me, Will, I could not live without it a second time.”

Will stared at him, unable to understand. “A second time? I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Hannibal nearly growled at this. “You are difficult and obstinate and entirely oblivious, Will Graham. Have you truly no idea why I brought you into my service? Why I elevated you above others who were surely better qualified for the role?”

Will felt himself grow suddenly irritated. He slid from his own horse and got up close to Hannibal, glaring at him as he snapped, “Indeed, I have no idea, your highness. I can’t imagine why you put yourself to such trouble for such an inferior specimen.”

“Inferior…” Hannibal sounded beyond exasperated and merely stared at Will for a moment. And then he surged forward and took his mouth in a kiss.

Will froze, his still-fresh anger mixing with shock to paralyse him. Then he felt Hannibal begin to withdraw, and with a sound of protest, tugged him back down to deepen the kiss. It was soft and warm, and Will could feel Hannibal’s smile against his own as they melted together, hands winding around each other to hold tight enough to bruise. They stayed that way for several minutes, before a lack of air caused them to separate, and even then they barely moved away, foreheads resting against each other and bodies pressed tight.

“Did you truly not realise?” Hannibal murmured. Will could only shake his head in response. “I thought I was so obvious, dear Will. Bringing you close to me.”

“As your servant,” Will protested.

“Flirting with you at every opportunity,” Hannibal countered.

“You flirt with everybody.”

“I do not appear naked in front of everybody, though.”

Will paused, pretending to consider. “Alright, in retrospect perhaps I might have been a little oblivious. Though in my defence, I was so busy trying not to be obvious about my own desires, it never crossed my mind that you might have some of your own.”

Hannibal laughed, and kissed him again for that. But when he drew back, he looked sombre.

“I thought I had lost you. I followed you out of the ballroom but you had vanished. I thought you might have returned to your quarters, or mine, but you were nowhere to be found. And then I considered you might have gone to visit the dogs, and it was only chance that I was passing the stables when you burst from them. I thought… I am sorry, Will, that I caused you any pain.” He took Will’s hands and kissed them, as if needing to prove to himself that Will was real.

Will took a deep breath and looked at the prince, not quite able to meet his eyes. “You said you needed me. The man in that ballroom didn’t need me. He didn’t even look at me, just dismissed me and had me stuck in a corner like a thing to be ashamed of.”

“ _Will_.” Hannibal sounded pained, and he tipped Will’s chin up to look at him properly. “I could never, _never_ be ashamed of you. I dismissed you because I could not risk arousing suspicions. I put you in a corner because I knew you would hate being scrutinised for your presence. And I didn’t look at you… Will I _couldn’t_ look at you. If I had, it would have been clear to everyone there that I am hopelessly in love with you.”

“Oh.” Will hesitated for a moment, torn between the impulse to leave it at that and let Hannibal kiss him again, and needing to settle the last doubt in his mind. He chose to speak. “That woman… the one with the red hair. You touched her, just as you touched me, and I hated you for it,” Will murmured, letting the pain of the memory go along with the words.

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, and then said quietly, “I wanted to snap her neck. I might have, if there hadn’t been an entire ballroom of people to witness it.”

Will looked into the prince’s eyes and saw the utter truth of it, felt the consuming rage of the moment as if he had been the one holding the woman’s life in his hands. He supposed someone else might have been horrified. Will found he didn’t feel much of anything, except relief.

“We could go back and find her, if you like. We’ll need provisions for the road – she’s a little skinny but we could probably make her last a few days. If you’re coming with me, that is.”

Hannibal gaped at Will, before a stunned laugh burst out of him and he pulled his former valet in for a bruising kiss. “ _If_ I am coming with you? How could I possibly let you go?” Hannibal asked when he pulled back, breathless with happiness, “After all, I believe I haven’t even begun to plumb the depths of your perfect depravity, my darling Will.”

“Yes, love,” Will returned, with a smile that promised wickedness and delight in equal measure, “hadn’t you figured that out yet?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come flail with me on [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com)!


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